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A short poem in class.


“When the crown sat on his head
He robed his usual finery
It was an ostensible servitude
That was nothing more than perfunctory.

But look into his eyes…
His wisdom lay there
Tranquil and enigmatic
That gripped them and eluded them, in despair.

He spoke not of faraway lands
But of genius that in simplicity was laid
They failed to understand his dialectic sermon
Alas!they fell in the stereotypes of those beneath their grave.”

Posted March 21, 2009 by Deepti G Gujar in Mes poèmes banales

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